


My Heart Lay Waiting For the Spring to Come (Again)

by elrhiarhodan



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Bottom Merlin, Falling In Love, Grief, M/M, Mention of Harry Hart, Mention of Original Male Characters - Freeform, Mention of other Kingsman characters, Merwin, Non-Canon Death of Harry Hart, Real Tailor Eggsy, That Vogue China Photo Shoot, alternative universe, holocaust survivor, mention of Holocaust, merlahad, modern day AU, non-spy au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-26 10:37:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12555584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: A little more than two years after the death of his husband, Merlin is alone in Hong Kong, unable to escape memories and his grief. When he’s dining by himself, the young man at the table next to him introduces himself; it takes a moment for Merlin to recognize the lad as Harry’s favorite tailor.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [pictures](https://xkayjiaen.tumblr.com/post/166560217609) and [gifs](http://www.weibo.com/1765870915/FqE30C5Bs?type=comment#_rnd1509319263802) of Mark Strong and Taron Egerton taken in the recent photoshoot by Vogue China, done during the KTGC Asia press tour. The fabulous [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/Elletromil/profile)[**Elletromil**](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/Elletromil/) has already written an utterly delicious story about Merlin and Eggsy and Harry (late as always) meeting at the restaurant - [Unexpected Date](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12448929) \- inspired by these photos. 
> 
> This story goes in a completely different direction, which requires: **Warnings** Non-Canon Death of Canon Character, brief expression of antisemitism, mention of non-canon suicide (Harry's father and other family members).
> 
> The title of the story is taken from one of my favorite Scottish songs, [Braw Burn the Bridges](https://youtu.be/eKp_r_N0n4M), by The Tannahill Weavers, a song of love and loss and the aching need to find home after a long and terrible journey. Please follow the link to YouTube and listen. See the endnotes for the lyrics.
> 
> Story is complete, new chapters will go up on Saturdays and Tuesdays.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin is beginning a six month business trip to Hong Kong - as a way to escape the oppressive grief he feels over the loss of his husband, Harry. A chance encounter leads to something Merlin never expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone made me a thing!!!!!! The extraordinary [](http://anarchycox.tumblr.com)[](http://anarchycox.tumblr.com)**anarchycox** created cover art - which now prefaces the first chapter. How did I get so lucky!!!!!

"So, here I am, Harry. Waiting for ye." Merlin looks at the picture on his cellphone and lets out a shuddering sigh. "But yer not late, are you?" 

He closes his eyes and tries not to let the pain overwhelm him. Merlin usually manages better than this. "Harry, I'm here, in Hong Kong, one of your favorite places in the world, at one of your favorite restaurants. I'm at our table and yer not late …" Merlin chokes up, unable to continue. "It hurts so damn much."

Harry doesn't answer, of course. It's been two years and then some. Twenty-eight months, three weeks, four days and – Merlin checks the time – nine hours and sixteen minutes since he'd watched Harry struggle for one last breath before the monitor flat-lined.

Merlin holds himself absolutely still, the way he's taught himself to do to keep from shattering. It hasn't gotten any easier.

 _Let go, darling. Let me go. Please._ Harry's voice is a soft memory, but these words are too tied up with the sharp and antiseptic smell of the hospice room, the not-quite-silent hum of the single monitor tracking Harry's ever-decreasing vital signs, the heavy, labored sounds of a dying man trying to breathe, to speak. 

"I can't." Merlin bites the inside of his cheek and presses the off button on his phone, unable to bear Harry's beautiful face. Merlin doesn't know why he's torturing himself tonight, the first of a six-month sojourn in Hong Kong, why he's here at the same restaurant where Harry had asked him for his hand in marriage.

_"Yer an idiot, Harry Hart. Get off your knees before you hurt yourself."_

_"Not until you give me your answer, Hamish Raeburn."_

_"Ye call me 'Hamish' again, ye won't live long enough ta regret it." Merlin glares at his best friend and partner, the person he's loved for nearly his entire life._

_"Jamie, you're the light and the soul of my life. You've been my best friend since we were fourteen. You've been my heart and my home since we were twenty. Will you please do me the honor of marrying me?" Harry is still on one knee, oblivious to the people staring at them._

_Merlin sighs and tries not to smile. He doesn't mind it so much when Harry calls him "Jamie", the diminutive for "Hamish", or rather "James" as the English would say, but he still preferred "Merlin" – a nickname Harry had given him back when they were in the seventh form at Winchester._

_But Merlin still refuses to answer, although there's a smile tugging at his lips._

_And Harry gives in, "Merlin, will you take me as your husband? To honor me forever?"_

_"Yes, Galahad, I will. Just get off your knees, you silly berk."_

Merlin bites his lip and stares out over harbor, the lights on the mainland twinkling as the evening darkness descends. They didn't have that forever – they barely had a year of wedded life, and the last month was spent denying the inevitable. Merlin thinks he should take comfort from the forty years of friendship, over thirty years as lovers, but he can't. They'd been cheated out of the rest of their lives together. He asks his husband the same question he's been asking for more than two years, _Harry, I know I made ye a promise and I've never gone back on one, but how the hell do you expect me to live for another thirty years without ye?_

Of course, Harry doesn't answer and Merlin's forever caught up in a well of endless grief. He should go, return to his hotel and bury himself in paperwork. There is only so much torture that he can bear. 

But he doesn't leave, and when the server comes around, Merlin twists the knife in his heart and orders the identical meal he'd had that wonderful evening.

"And to drink, sir?"

That night, he and Harry had split a bottle of '84 Petrus, Pomerol, because Harry Hart had been nothing if not ridiculously extravagant. Merlin can't bring himself to order a fifteen-hundred pound bottle of wine. "Do you have a 2012 Opus One?"

"Only by the bottle, sir."

"That will be fine." Merlin knows that that is an equally ridiculous purchase, but at only a hundred-fifty pounds, it feels like a bargain. And the way he feels right now, he'll probably finish it, go back to his hotel room and a few glasses of Chivas as dessert, if just because that's what's in the room's bar.

Or maybe not. Merlin has spent much of his life living down the shame of having a pair of drunken sots as parents, of being a scholarship kid who never went home for the holidays because home was a broken down council flat in North Glasgow. He drinks, but always in moderation, and even after Harry had died, Merlin had kept a close watch on just how much alcohol he'd consume. 

Tonight, though – it feels like he's earned a good bender. Being here in Hong Kong without Harry for the first time leaves Merlin adrift – almost dissociative.

The sommelier brings the bottle of Opus and makes a production of uncorking and pouring a sample for him to taste. He tells the young man it's acceptable and lets him fill his glass. Contrary to prior expectation, Merlin finds himself barely sipping the wine as he watches the ships pass and the lights twinkle. He thinks about how far he's come and how little all of that matters now.

The waiter puts a plate of food in front of him; a complementary appetizer. It's gloriously presented and undoubtedly delicious, but Merlin has little appetite. He's about to ask for the tab when someone with an improbable North London accent says his name.

"Mr. Raeburn?"

Merlin looks over at the table next to him and sees a vaguely familiar face. Perhaps it's the odd environment, but he just can't remember who this man – this young and quite handsome man – is.

"Ye have the advantage of me, I'm afraid."

The lad gets up and holds out his hand. "Gary Unwin, sir. From Kingsman Tailors, in London."

Now everything snaps into place. Kingsman had been Harry's favorite tailor for all of his adult life, and every season for nearly twenty-five years, he'd had a new suit made. Another one of those expensive indulgences. Of course, Harry had dragged Merlin in from time to time, insisting that Merlin needed to wear something more stylish than cashmere jumpers and chinos. 

Merlin can still hear his husband insist that a good suit was like armor against the world and all the shit it could fling at you. Merlin had replied that he'd prefer chain mail, honestly.

The young man whose hand he's just taken had been Harry's tailor for the past few years; and on the rare occasion when Harry had successfully badgered him into getting a new suit, he'd been Merlin's too. "Of course – but I didn't think your first name was Gary." Merlin tries to remember the name that Harry had used when describing the boy who'd taken his measurements for his new summer suit. "Eggy, isn't it?"

Gary grins, "It's Eggsy, actually. I didn't think you'd remember my nickname."

There's something about the lad, his bright smile, his confident carriage, the suit and tie and the breadth of his shoulders that reminds him of Harry when they'd been in their late twenties and ready to take on the world. 

"Aye – I was close, but as they say, 'no cigar'."

"Close enough. I've gotten accustomed to using 'Gary' that it's a right treat to hear someone call me by the name I prefer."

"Oh?" Merlin's a bit confused at that. As far as he can recall, the staff at Kingsman had always called the lad "Eggsy".

"I've been working here in China for the last few years, helping set up a branch of Kingsman in Beijing, and now in Hong Kong. Nicknames like Eggsy don't really wash with local staff. Too informal, so I've been using Gary."

Merlin nods. "Understandable." He doesn't have quite the same problem – his nickname has a certain gravitas to it.

Eggsy looks around and there's a curious expression on his face. Merlin knows what's coming and he steels himself.

"Mr. Hart not traveling with you?"

Merlin swallows hard. He'll never get accustomed to that question, although it's been a while since he's met someone who doesn't know. "Harry passed away a bit more than two years ago."

He waits for the usual questions, the hows and the whys and the bland offering of sympathy. But the expression on the lad's face is terrible – a mirror of the grief Merlin feels every day.

"Oh, no. I am so very sorry, sir. Mr. Hart was a wonderful man, and he loved you very much."

Merlin blinks at that, and the pain is like another stab wound. How the hell does this young tailor – this nobody – have the right to say such things?

But Eggsy just plows on, oblivious, shoving the knife in again and again. "The first time I took his measurements, he told me about you. It seemed that all he could talk about was the amazing partner he had – how you were the best thing in his life. Never heard a man go on so much about someone. He thought the sun rose and set with you. And when I was measuring and fitting him for his wedding suit, he'd just go about how happy you were making him. How he was the luckiest man in the universe."

Merlin stands there, bleeding out as this idiotic bastard just keeps going on about Harry. Maybe it's the expression on his face but eventually the words just die.

"I'm – sorry. I don't know what came over me." The lad steps back and nearly crashes into a server. "I should – just – go."

There are tears in the boy's eyes. Tears for Harry – for him – and Merlin thinks how unfair it all is that this stranger can cry when he, himself, hasn't been able to shed a single fucking tear. He reaches out and grabs at Eggsy's sleeve. "No, please – don't. Don't go."

For all his life, Merlin's been a loner; he's never needed people, wanted people around him. He'd had Harry as his best and truest friend since they'd been thirteen, and that that had always been enough. Harry had been a social creature, charming the birds out of the trees and he'd easily cultivated friendships with all kinds of people, the rich and famous, the talented and obscure, or just with someone he'd taken a shine to, like this young and beautiful tailor. 

But after Harry had died, Merlin let those connections evaporate. He didn't have the energy, the patience, the desire, to keep up with so many random acquaintances. 

It hadn't really even been a conscious decision. Those people hadn't really known Harry; they'd just enjoyed the company of a wealthy bon vivant, a man who always had a story to tell and money to donate. This young man, though, seems to know Harry, seems to have cared for him. The bitter anger he'd felt just a few moments ago has morphed into a terrible need to connect with someone who had known his husband.

Eggsy shoves his hands into his trouser pockets, looking like a teenager. "Are you sure?"

Merlin puts on a smile. "Yes, please." He pulls out the chair across from his place setting. "I would love some company tonight. Unless you're waiting for someone?"

"No, just here by myself, Mr. Raeburn." Eggsy gives him a searching look and sits down. A server comes by and transfers over Eggsy's drink and promises to bring a menu over.

"Call me Merlin, please."

Eggsy nods and there's an awkward few moments as Merlin strives to come up with a topic of conversation; one that doesn't center around Harry Hart.

Eggsy, though, doesn't seem to have that problem. "What brings you to Hong Kong?"

"Business." God, but Merlin hates talking about himself.

Eggsy raises an eyebrow? "What kind of business? The type where if you tell me, you'll have to shoot me? Or wait – you're a spy and you're working undercover."

That gets a chuckle out of Merlin. "Nah. Do you know what VFX is? Post-production?"

Eggsy shakes his head and then asks, "Wait – for the movies? All the magical stuff?"

"Aye. I own _Wizard Vision_ , it's a visual effects studio – a house as it's called in the industry. China's become a huge market – not just for European films, but homegrown, too. I'm setting up a branch here."

Eggsy nods. "Like I've just done for Kingsman. You must like challenges."

"It'll keep me busy and out of trouble." Merlin definitely needs the former. Since Harry had died, his creativity had dried up like a puddle in the sun. "So, you aren't here just to head up the tailoring shops?"

Eggsy looks like he'd rather ask more questions about Merlin's business rather than talk about himself, but concedes to the change in subject. "It started out that way. Right after I'd gotten my master tailoring certificate, the management at Kingman asked me if I'd like to help start up the Beijing branch. They'd hired a local manager and tailors, but they wanted someone who could ensure that the branch would be providing the same quality as Savile Row."

"Not an easy task, I'd imagine."

Eggsy grimaces. "No. The tailors in Beijing were brilliant, but they didn't fully get the whole bespoke concept, which I needed to teach them. Plus the high level of service that Kingsman requires wasn't part of their way of doing business. Then the local manager quit and took half the staff to start his own shop. It was sink or swim for a while, and I did a lot of sinking before I got the hang of swimming. Improved my Mandarin right quick, though. Do you speak the language?"

"Not more than a smattering of pleasantries." Harry had been the linguist, spoke fluent Mandarin and three or four other languages. "Is it really necessary, though? Most everyone here in Hong Kong speaks English."

"Ah, but they all also speak Mandarin and you'll have to do a lot of your contracts in Mandarin. I learned that the hard way."

"That's why I have James. He was born here, raised here, knows the language and the culture."

"James?"

"He's someone Harry and I – " Merlin corrects himself. "Someone I've known for ages. Since Uni, actually. He'd made a mint, retired, got bored and pretty much was the one to convince me to do this. He's a trained lawyer and will serve as my translator when necessary, so he know what to do and say."

"You trust him?" Eggsy doesn't bother to hide a skeptical look.

"Not really, but James is also funding half the venture, so if he screws me over, he'll lose a bundle too."

Eggsy still looks a bit worried. "Don't want to see anyone have to go through what I did. Trial by fire and all that."

Merlin feels a strange warmth in his belly. He can't remember someone – other than Harry - caring about him like this since, well, ever. "Thanks, lad. I'll be all right."

A server comes over with another plate of appetizers and the promised menu. Eggsy asks Merlin, "Anything you recommend?"

"The swordfish is superb."

Eggsy takes his advice and Merlin asks the server to bring their dishes out at the same time. Returning his focus to Eggsy, he asks, "So the Beijing branch was a success?"

"It was – it is, now. Touch and go there for a while." Eggsy shares some of the more amusing stories. "Eventually, Kingman found someone to come over and take on the actual management work of the shop. I'd hoped that would mean they'd let me get back to the actual tailoring side of the business, or at least the creative side. Designing, picking fabrics, working with clients – that sort of thing."

"You enjoy it."

Eggsy smiles and nods. "Yeah, I do. A lot."

"It's an odd calling for a young man."

"I know – and sometimes it don't feel quite real. I don't think there's a kid alive who says 'I want to be a bespoke tailor when I grow up'. Or even 'I want to be a tailor'."

"So, how did you get into the business?" Merlin pours Eggsy a glass of wine and tops off his own glass.

"Luck, good luck. Being in the wrong place at the right time." Eggsy takes a sip and makes an appreciative face. "This is nice, thanks."

"You're welcome. But I really do want to hear your story." Merlin finds himself fascinated by this young man with a seemingly endless well of self-confidence.

"Grew up in North London – as if you couldn't tell by my accent. Council estate, dad died young – fighting for Queen and country. Thought about following in his footsteps but my mum made a terrible stink – said she didn't want to lose me like she'd lost my dad. She was all kinds of fucked up but the guilt trip worked."

"So you became a tailor, instead?" Merlin's more than a little surprised at how forthcoming Eggsy is.

"Not as simple as that. Not really. Mum took it hard after my dad was killed, fell into a bad depression, fell into a bottle, onto a needle, married her dealer." Eggsy stares into his wine, the expression on his face terrible. "I was living rough a lot, doing crap, doing anything I could to keep from following in my mum's footsteps or end up dealing. But there was this old Jewish gentleman – Mr. Hirsh. His family had been high-class tailors in Vienna – " Eggsy stops and his lip quivers. "He was sent to Dachau when he was twelve. Made to work in the factories as a slave." Eggsy wipes his mouth. "He survived, but everyone else in his family was killed."

Merlin doesn't know what to say – Eggsy's story is completely unexpected and absolutely heartbreaking.

"He came to London after the liberation and set up a shop. Did okay for himself, but he didn't marry, didn't have kids. Said he couldn't bear it. He lived in the same building I did. Would always see him coming and going. He always said hello, asked me how I was doing, if I needed anything. I'd carry his groceries sometimes, have a cup of tea if things were bad at home and I needed to stay away. One day, I was fifteen and Dean – mum's asshole drug-dealing husband – was trying to pimp out my ass out on Smith Street, and I wouldn't have any of it. Mr. Hirsh comes walking by, leaning on an umbrella and wearing a smart suit like he always does, and Dean makes a comment, like maybe he'd want to fuck my ass with his horns. Vicious, stupid shit.

"This old man – he might have looked fragile – but he weren't. He says to Dean, 'Manners maketh man' and then proceeds to beat the shit out of him. Out of a few of Dean's muppets, too. By time he's done, those ass wipes are spread out over the sidewalk, bruised and bleeding, and I'm standing there with my mouth open, catching flies and thinking I've just met a fucking superhero."

"You had." 

"Yeah, I did. I went back with Mr. Hirsh to his place and he asked me if I wanted to make something of my life. I told him I wanted to learn to fight like that. He said he'd teach me but I also needed to learn how to make a suit, too."

Merlin is completely and utterly charmed. He wonders if Eggsy had ever told this story to Harry. Waiters bring their meal and Merlin orders another bottle of wine. As they eat, Eggsy continues with his story.

"So, I became Mr. Hirsh's apprentice. When I found that I liked tailoring more than beating up people, he helped me get into a program at the London College of Fashion and The Savile Row Academy." Eggsy sips his wine. "The man had unbelievable connections."

"He must be very proud of you." 

"He was – passed away right before I came to China. He was the one who told me that I shouldn't let this opportunity pass me by. That I had too much potential. He believed in me." Eggsy laughs sadly. "Mr. Hart was like that, too."

"Oh?" Merlin's curious now.

"I was the seriously low man on the totem pole when I started at Kingsman. Had a couple of certificates, some good recs, a decent portfolio, but coming into a place like Kingsman – you don't just start with customers. You work your way up. And one day, Mr. Hart pops in, says he has a spare hour and could he get a fitting for a new summer suit. Andrew – the head tailor and Mr. Hart's usual – was engaged with another client, so was Stevens. I offered to take Mr. Hart's measurements, take some notes about what he wanted, and we got to talking. Or rather, he started talking about you – about a trip the two of you were taking and how thrilled he was to have you all to himself. Really goopy, personal stuff. Said you were going to Vienna."

Merlin remembers that trip. Harry had joyfully bitched about gaining weight while stuffing his face with chocolate and pastry.

"I'd just been there – so he asked me about the city, what I thought about it. Told him that I'd gone with Mr. Hirsh, that he wanted to – well – go home one last time. Told him the whole story – what I just told you." Eggsy rubs at his nose. "You know, measurements should only take fifteen, twenty minutes and we were in that fitting room for almost an hour. Andrew was a little annoyed when we came out and I could see by his face that he was thinking about firing me for monopolizing a fitting room, but Mr. Hart, he smoothed things over and insists that he wants me to handle the entire suit, from start to finish. Wouldn't hear of anyone else doing it."

"And that's how you became Harry's tailor."

That story sounds exactly like Harry.

"I never used to believe in luck, still don't know if I do. But I've been lucky with the people I've met. Makes me want to pay it forward."

"I can see why Harry liked you."

Merlin can see the blush rise across Eggsy's cheeks. 

"Really?"

"People used to say that Harry led a charmed life; that he never had to struggle for anything."

"He did seem that way."

"Let me tell you the truth about Harry Hart." Merlin takes a deep breath, not quite sure why he feels compelled to tell Eggsy this. "Harry came from both nobility and from money, and in the way of such things, he made money like a man makes piss after too many pints."

Eggsy laughs a bit at the crudity.

"But the money didn't make him an asshole. On the contrary, Harry believed that there was no excuse for cruelty, no excuse for not doing the right thing. And he lived by those rules. As much money as he made, he made sure to give that much away, and then some. But despite the money, despite the rank, his life was far from charmed. His mother died when Harry was seventeen. When Harry was eighteen, his father died in a 'hunting accident'. Ironically, the same type of 'accident' that had killed Harry's grandfather, and one of his paternal uncles."

"Like the Hemingways?"

"Well, aren't you full of surprises?" Merlin sighs and shakes his head. "And yes, just like the Hemingways. Harry was always aware that he could be driven down that path and he worked very hard not to. Perhaps he was lucky with that – that the familial tendency towards depression skipped him. But still, he treated his mental health with the utmost importance. He _worked_ at it. Worked hard at it." There's something cathartic about telling Eggsy about his husband's hidden facets.

"That wasn't what happened?" Eggsy looks horrified. "Please, tell me that he didn't kill himself."

"No, lad. He didn't. He didn't follow down his father's path, but his mother's." At Eggsy's look of confusion, Merlin clarifies. "She died of pancreatic cancer. That's what killed Harry. Took him from me with barely a warning. About three months after we'd gotten back from our honeymoon, Harry started complaining about stomach pains that wouldn't go away. He was losing weight and he wouldn't go to the doctor. I think he knew but as long as he didn't _know_ , it would be all right. Except that it wasn't. It was another month of bull-headed denial before I could drag him to the doctor and it was as bad as he'd feared."

Merlin drains his glass and sighs. "You don't survive pancreatic cancer. The doctors told him he could have six good months without treatment, or maybe a year if he wanted to go through medical hell."

"And Harry told 'em that they could take their treatments and fuck off, right?"

Merlin has to smile. For the first time in this long and strange evening, Eggsy's dropped the posh accent and he calls Harry by his first name. "Exactly. We had five months before Harry needed hospice care. He died eleven months after we got married."

Eggsy reaches out and grabs Merlin's hand. "I am so very sorry. You two deserved so much more."

Merlin, never a man who enjoyed physical contact except with Harry, finds himself relishing this simple touch, gently squeezing the lad's hand and not letting go. "Thank ye."

"For what?"

"For listening, for letting me talk. People don't want to hear the details and I'm not one for sharing, besides. Harry used to call me a walking stereotype of the taciturn Scotsman."

"Mr. Hirsh used to say that it's easier to talk to strangers, they don't judge like friends do."

Merlin snorts in agreement. "Except you actually have to _have_ friends."

"Harry was your whole world?"

"Since we were thirteen. Don't know why, but he latched onto me when we met at school and he wouldn't let go. Wouldn't let me push him away."

"Maybe you saved him. Doesn't sound like he had much of a good childhood."

"Maybe." Merlin desperately wants to change the subject. "You're enjoying Hong Kong?"

And Eggsy lets him. "It's been fun. Different from Beijing – what with tailoring being almost a national industry here. But I'll be glad to get home."

"Oh?" 

"Yeah – it's my last night tonight. Came here to celebrate a job well done. Heading back to England tomorrow. Back to Savile Row."

"Ah. And none of your co-workers wanted to come along and share the joy?"

"Nah, they couldn't wait to see the back of me – me and my fussbudget ways. But they'll be sorry when Percival – my replacement from the mothership – takes over. He's a righteous taskmaster." There's something shark-like in Eggsy expression that makes Merlin feel a little sorry for the local Kingsman crew. He also feels a little relieved that Eggsy won't be in Hong Kong. And a little disappointed, too.

"Can't wait to get home?"

"Yeah. I haven't been back since the assignment started. Took my vacations in Australia, New Zealand, Japan, even went to San Francisco. Got a chance to see a bit of the world."

Merlin tells Eggsy about the trip that he and Harry had taken to Australia in the Nineties, about Harry trying to surf and failing miserably but never giving up, no matter how much sand he'd gotten in his board shorts or how beaten and bruised he'd gotten from the waves. That story segued into the trek they'd made through New Zealand and climbing glaciers – something Eggsy had done, himself.

"Did you ever get to San Francisco?"

"Oddly enough, no."

"Why? I'd figure that two bent blokes like you would have taken to San Fran like ducks to water."

Merlin shakes his head and lets another bit of himself loose. "We might have been bent like paperclips, but we were absolutely monogamous since we'd gotten together at Uni. There was never anyone but Harry for me, and Harry had a boyfriend or two before, but once we'd gotten together, that was it for either of us. Maybe if I was less of a taciturn Scot, it might have been fun, but I don't really think it was Harry's scene either. For all his gregariousness, he was a very self-contained man. And he always hated to mix sweat and socializing, so he wasn't much for clubbing. Said he didn't see the point."

"Not when he had a sex god at home." Eggsy picks up glass, finishes the wine and snorts in laughter at his own joke.

"Lad?" Merlin bites his lip and tries not to be amused. Or flattered. "Are you drunk?"

"Nah. Just a bit buzzed." Eggsy looks at him, the picture of innocence. "Oh, was that out of line?"

"A little."

"Should I apologize?"

Maybe Merlin's a bit buzzed too. "Only if you were taking the piss on me."

"Definitely not taking the piss, bruv." Eggsy's leaning back in his chair, reminding Merlin of a leopard deciding whether or not to pounce.

Mouth is dry as bone, Merlin asks, "What time's your flight tomorrow?"

"Don't have to be at the airport until five. All my stuff's been shipped home, just have a carry-on and a first class ticket."

"Nice." Merlin signals to the discreetly hovering waiter to bring the check and drops a credit card on the folder without even checking the total. "Would you like to join me for a nightcap?" Merlin can't quite believe he asked that.

Eggsy doesn't answer right away and Merlin wonders if he's just made a stupid mistake. He's almost twice the lad's age, and …

All of Merlin's internal objections disappear when Eggsy smiles and says, "Yeah, I'd like that."

The waiter returns with his card and receipt. Merlin tucks both away in his wallet and gets up. "I'm staying at the Four Seasons for the moment."

"What a nice coincidence, so am I. Had to leave my apartment a few days early and the company's been generous." Eggsy grins at him, suddenly looking far too young, but far too wicked.

The hotel is a few blocks away, an easier and quicker walk than a cab ride; Hong Kong's streets are terminally crowded.

With an unspoken understanding, they by-pass the hotel bar and head to the elevators. While they're waiting, Eggsy asks, "My room or yours?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Notes for Chapter One**
> 
>  
> 
> I named the original character that had been Eggsy's mentor "Mr. Hirsh" because _hirsh_ in Yiddish means "deer", and "Hart" is an old world term for deer.
> 
> Ernest Hemingway, the American author that Harry quotes in the first movie - _“There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man; true nobility is being superior to your former self.”_ committed suicide. So did his father, his sister, his brother and his granddaughter.
> 
> I've aged up Eggsy for this story. He's not in his early twenties, but close to thirty. He's a legitimate bespoke tailor who'd completed a full course of study at the schools mentioned in this chapter (yes, Savile Row Academy is real), and while he might have started at Kingsman as a young and talented graduate, he'd need a bit a seasoning before being selected to take on the responsibility of opening up a branch of the business in China (actually, he's still a bit young, but maybe he's a prodigy). As for Harry and Merlin, they are (or would be) the same age - 55. I'm never sure if Harry's supposed to be the same age as Colin, but I suspect he might be a bit younger. Mark is a few years younger than Colin, but close enough that they _could_ be the same age.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy goes back with Merlin to his hotel suite and for the first time since Harry's death, Merlin _wants_. He wants what Eggsy is offering - but it's more than a simple surcease from grief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** : Discussion of assisted suicide.

_"My room or yours?_ Such a simple question, but one Merlin's never really had to answer, at least not since he'd moved into Harry's dorm room when they'd finally gotten their act together. 

"Whichever you prefer is fine with me, but I have a suite, so we might as well enjoy it." Then Merlin realizes what Eggsy's offering – a way out – but he doesn't change his mind.

"Your room, then." Eggsy stands next to him and Merlin can feel the heat from the lad's body. It warming the frozen parts of his soul.

The elevator arrives and once inside, Merlin presses the number for the forty-fifth floor and swipes his key card to access the suite levels. Merlin keeps an eye on the floor readout, but he can see that Eggsy's watching him – it's kind of hard to miss in the polished metal doors. The journey of a few moments ends without interruption and the car doors open with a whispered hush. Eggsy says nothing as he follows Merlin down the hall and waits while he opens the door to his suite.

Inside, Merlin takes off his jacket, dropping it on the couch. As he heads over to the fully stocked bar that the suite provides, he loosens his tie, reaches for the Chivas, and asks, "What would you like, lad?" 

Eggsy joins him and stands there, hands in his pockets and says far too simply, "You."

Merlin puts down the bottle. "I'm not much of a prize."

"I beg to differ. I think you're very much the prize." Eggsy smiles – it's not a suggestive look, not a come-on, but something completely different, something ineffably sweet and piercing. 

Merlin doesn't want to feel the warmth growing in his chest; he doesn't want to be aroused by this gorgeous young man in a perfectly tailored suit, with a body that would make Michelangelo reach for his chisels and Bronzino reach for his paints. But he is. Perhaps it's the connection to Harry; this is someone who had known his husband, had admired him, and by extension, knows Merlin, too. Eggsy Unwin is and is not a stranger. 

"We can just talk, if you want. I don't mind." Eggsy unbuttons his jacket, but that's his only concession to informality.

Merlin sighs and rests his hands on the bar. Perhaps that would be for the best.

Except Eggsy comes close and puts on hand on Merlin's back and Merlin shivers at the contact. 

"But I'd really like to kiss you."

He can smell the sandalwood notes of Eggsy's cologne, and underneath, a faint musk of sweat and desire.

"This isn't wise, lad." Merlin's fighting a losing battle against himself.

"Are you afraid?"

That seems like an odd question, until Merlin remembers telling Eggsy that Harry had been his only lover. "A little, truthfully." 

"I want you – bad. And maybe, I think, you want me, too."

Merlin doesn't want to admit to anything, but in his passivity, he admits to everything.

"I can make it good for you. I'll only do what you want. You tell me stop, I stop." Eggsy's other hand is resting on the bar, next to Merlin's. Merlin watches their hands, his with the faded mark of a self-inflicted tattoo, Eggsy's – strong and muscular, fingers blunt rather than elegant, but cared for – pampered, even. With almost detached fascination, Merlin watches as Eggsy traces that old tattoo, his fingers gentle and relentless, the caress feather-light.

To Merlin's surprise, Eggsy doesn't ask about the youthful folly. Instead, he moves onto the strong bones of Merlin's wrist, stroking it, and Merlin feels that touch in his cock. 

Eggsy leans in. "May I kiss you?" Eggsy reaches out, his fingers a whisper-soft brand, scalding hot against his cheek. “You don’t strike me as a man who wants to admit that he need anything.” He swallows, and then continues. “But you do need, and if you let yourself admit it, I think you’ll be impossible to satisfy.”

Merlin grips Eggsy's hand to pull him away. What right does this boy – this _tailor_ – have to see him so clearly? He wants to crush him, but instead, he lets go and steps back. Merlin's panting, feeling far too much. He wants to tell Eggsy to leave. But the words won’t come. He's made a terrible mistake. Not just inviting Eggsy back to his room, but this damn whole evening. He knows that he's been too open, sharing too much himself. With every word, every gesture, he's warmed to this man, forgetting that Eggsy's little more than a stranger. 

But he can't help it. Eggsy Unwin is a rare delight, he's smart, he's compassionate, he looks at the world and sees opportunity, not roadblocks. He's thoughtful, intelligent, decent, and dedicated; in his own way, so much like Harry that Merlin wants to weep at the comparison. 

Merlin can't deny the physical attraction, either. There's so much coiled strength in that body, and coupled with the inherent kindness that Eggsy's shown him, Merlin finds that he wants to take shelter in his arms and never leave. 

That makes him a fool, an idiot. He's Merlin Raeburn and he's never needed anyone but Harry for his entire life. He doesn't want anyone but Harry – a man long dead and buried – and this desire feels like a betrayal. But he knows that Harry wouldn't want his husband to follow him into the grave, they'd certainly talked about it enough in those last few weeks. It could be so easy to give into this new reality, where he and Eggsy are simply two old acquaintances who are managing to find a little happiness together. 

But when Eggsy voices that terrible truth, the fantasy comes crashing down. There won't be any happiness for him, not ever again.

Eggsy must see the anger in his eyes and must think that he should run. Merlin hopes he does, but he also desperately wants him to stay, to take the darkness, the grief and the loneliness that he's lived with for so long and turn it into sunlight and joy. 

But he looks into Eggsy's eyes and sees an answering darkness; Eggsy's not all sunlight and joy. There is a darkness – a grief – in Eggsy's gaze that calls to Merlin, it's beautiful and magnetic. It pulls him forward, like he is a celestial object caught in a black hole’s gravitational field, and he's fast approaching the event horizon.

Instead leaving, Eggsy touches him, his hand an unaccustomed weight, first on his shoulder, then down his chest. His words crush the illusion of intimacy, that this is something they've done before. “How do you want – ” Eggsy stops and looks at Merlin, " – to do this?”

Merlin takes a deep breath, almost grateful that Eggsy's asking instead of letting Merlin make the decisions here. "I want you to fuck me."

"Can I kiss you first? Please?"

Merlin wants to say no, no kissing – just fucking – because Harry loved kissing; he kissed as if he'd gotten a double-first in it at Oxford. Merlin wants this to be different, he doesn't want Harry in his head tonight, but Harry lives there, if he lives nowhere else. His presence is inevitable and so he nods, giving into Eggsy's request.

Eggsy deftly unbuttons Merlin's waistcoat, his hand hot and hard against the fine cotton shirt. He pulls Merlin close and whispers against his jaw, under his ear, “Let me kiss you.” His voice is low and deep and intent.

The request is more of a demand, and that throws Merlin, who is far too accustomed to being in charge, taking control. Maybe it's rumble of Eggsy's voice, it reminds him of the chuffing of a lion before it roars. He doesn't answer, and Eggsy doesn't ask again. Instead, he pulls Merlin down and presses his lips against his.

If Merlin's expecting to be ravaged, he's bound for disappointment. There's a wonderful and unexpected mastery in Eggsy's kiss, it both asks for permission and commands compliance. Merlin can't help but respond, as if it is keyed into his soul, opening his lips, sighing his pleasure.

Eggsy’s hand slides down his back, his other hand cups his cheek and Merlin feels … he simply feels, no longer able to remember that he hadn't been sure he'd really wanted this. 

In a little while, Merlin will remember that he's a widower, that he's old and dried up and that he's only living because he his body's still alive. In a few hours, Eggsy will walk out the door and Merlin doesn't expect to see him again – he'll go home to England, settle back into a good life and meet some other young god and live together in all the bliss Eggsy deserves. 

But in this moment, Merlin doesn't want to think about what will happen a few hours from now. He's caught up in the beauty, the sensuality of this near-stranger’s hands as they hold him like he's something perfect and precious. Something to be treasured.

Eggsy’s lips drift along his jaw, settling for a moment under his ear, his warm breath making Merlin shiver, before moving on to the base of his throat. His own breath catches as Eggsy steps back and pulls him into his arms. 

The height difference should have made things awkward, and it is – at first. Their connection is an almost painful mashing of lips but that doesn't last for more than a heartbeat. Merlin feels himself opening up and Eggsy takes advantage, pulling Merlin down onto a couch, and perches over him like a benevolent predator.

Merlin's heart is racing and he’s lifting his hands to cup Eggsy's head, threading his fingers through the short, silken hair, holding him close for all he’s worth. Eggsy kisses magnificently. 

It seems to go on without end, without reason. It’s perfect and Merlin puts an arm around Eggsy' waist, holding him so damn close he can feel the Eggsy's heartbeat. Eggsy's lips are firm, plump, smooth, so very different from the ones that haunt Merlin's dreams. He opens his mouth, and Eggsy takes immediate advantage, but his tongue isn’t a crude invader, but rather a sly and sneaky thief, stealing his sanity along with his breath, his balance and any speck of intelligence he might have once laid claim to.

Their connection is endless, whole galaxies are born and die and are reborn in this kiss. Merlin doesn't care that the heat from Eggsy's body is about to immolate him; he thinks that this will be a good way to go.

But Eggsy breaks the kiss. "You deserve a bed, you know."

Merlin hums his agreement, still far too blissed out from Eggsy's kiss.

Eggsy laughs, the sound a warm huff in his ear. "This place is bigger than the shop in London – where's the bedroom?"

Merlin waves a hand towards one of the closed doors and Eggsy gets up and pulls him upright, into the vast, opulent room. Without bothering to turn on the lights, he pulls Merlin in front of a full length mirror and turns him around. The curtains are open and there's enough light from the city to provide illumination; it's just bright enough that Merlin can see the expressions on Eggsy's face as he rests his chin on Merlin's shoulder.

Eggsy is all controlled desire, sharp eyes and wet mouth, a lovely predator with white teeth a glimmering threat in the semi-darkness. He's wanting this as much as Merlin does. And as for Merlin, he looks at himself and sees a man enraptured; his eyes wide and dark with desire, his mouth open, desperate, and he's frightened at the strength of his desire. 

Eggsy’s fingers are clever, easily sliding his waistcoat and tie off – the sound of silk against silk reminds Merlin of the sound of Eggsy's lips against his skin, he's confident and quick as he eases his shirt buttons loose, then his cuffs – careful to tuck the set of cufflinks into Merlin's pants pocket, and finally his belt before pulling the garments free. His palms stroked Merlin’s torso, his fingers teasing the muscles, discovering the definition that too many hours spent in the gym and the boxing ring gives his body because he needs some outlet for his rage. Another man might have focused on the more obvious erogenous zones – working his nipples, zeroing in on his cock, but Eggsy is content to toy with his body, to find all the pleasure points, like the curve of his waist where it met his hip, the almost too-ticklish bit of skin on the inside of his elbow. 

Merlin wonders if this is how Galatea felt when Pygmalion woke her from her ivory prison.

Merlin's shirt is tossed aside and Eggsy unbuttons and unzips his pants; the fell to the floor and Merlin stepped out of them, toeing off his shoes and then his socks. His briefs follow, and it's like a dream but he's completely naked. His skin feels too tight – not just his cock, which is so erect that the head is flush against his navel – but his entire body. It's like he's being stroked with electricity.

Eggsy runs his fingers up and down Merlin's body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. The sensation is almost too much to bear, but Merlin doesn't know if he could bear it if Eggsy stopped. “Please …” He breathed the single syllable, begging for more, begging for everything.

“Do you want me to stop?” Eggsy’s voice, that sensual rumble, accelerates Merlin’s desire.

“No, no – please, no. Don’t stop.” A part of his brain, the part that will grieve forever, tells him that this is wrong – that only Harry's allow to touch him. _But Harry's dead._

Maybe Eggsy senses his confusion and despair, because he sighs and rubs his cheek against Merlin's shoulder. “We can stop at any time, just say the word.”

"No, I don't want to stop. But … thank ye for giving me the option."

"I want you, but I want you to feel good. That's more important than anything."

Merlin leans back against him, startled by the sensation of fabric and buttons and Eggsy’s rock hard cock pushing against his arse. He opens his eyes (not even sure when he closed them) and watches the two of them in the mirror, feeling like he's caught in some high class pornographic dream.

Eggsy worships his skin, hands and mouth ghosting over his flesh and Merlin moans – he hasn't been touched like this in years. Hot kisses press into his shoulder blades, along his spine, against the curve of his waist, his hips. The man, damn him, still avoids the more obvious erogenous zones, leaving his ass untouched. And when his mouth finds the skin on the back of his knees, his lips and tongue torturing him, Merlin all but collapses.

Eggsy catches him and really quite unbelievably – ridiculously – carries him over to the bed, and in the small part of his brain that is still functioning, Merlin wonders why that seems so significant. But the thought escapes him as Eggsy carefully puts him down, the white sheets cool against his overheated skin and continues the slow unwinding of Merlin’s sanity.

“Skin – I want to touch you, please.” Merlin reaches for Eggsy, and Eggsy, damn him, laughs. 

“If that's what you want, that's what you'll have.” Eggsy acquiesces and stops touching Merlin just long enough to strip out of his suit. He tries to sit up, to help remove Eggsy’s clothes, to touch his skin, to give him back just a small part of the pleasure he’s been receiving. Eggsy won’t let him, that evil bastard.

He pushed him back on the bed, holding him there with no apparent effort – Merlin is a strong man, a more than casual boxer, but Eggsy's casual display of strength is as arousing as a hand stroking his cock.

Eggsy leans over him, they were eye-to-eye and Merlin lifted his head, closing the gap and kisses him again.

With that touch of lips, the control that Eggsy has maintained over the moment, evaporates. He becomes an animal, kissing and biting Merlin’s lips, devouring him. And Merlin delights in it, delights in the sudden power he's been given, cupping his hands around Eggsy’s head, holding him close. There is no fraction of skin that wasn’t in contact with other skin, the heat between them flares and Merlin rocks up hard against Eggsy’s body. Their cocks met and slid against each other and Merlin almost loses control. 

Eggsy rears back. “I want to fuck you. I want to see your face as you come. I want to bury my cock so deep in your ass you’ll never forget what I feel like.”

Words, words that should have been ridiculous or even offensive, rocks Merlin to his soul. He murmurs “Yes” and “Yes” and “Yes” as Eggsy touches him, touches his cock like he owns it. When Eggsy takes his hand away, Merlin whimpers, a lost and dreadful sound. It's been so damn _long_.

And suddenly, Eggsy stops and pulls away. The loss of skin feels like he's been doused with ice cold water. "What's the matter?"

Eggsy bites his lip and instead of the sex god that's been tormenting him, he looks like a naughty school boy. "Lube, condoms. Don't carry any around with me."

Merlin laughs and waves a hand at the nearest nightstand. "There's some in the drawer, tucked between the Koran and the Bible. This is a full service suite."

Eggsy leans over and opens the drawer. "Well, it most certainly is." 

Merlin's is like Pavlov’s dog, his cock leaps – impossibly harder – when he hears the condom wrapper tear. And the lube – _ohmygodomygodohmygod_ – Eggsy’s hands are so gentle, so determined as he smooths the slick into his asshole, easing him open, preparing him.

His whines of need and Eggsy’s words of praise and encouragement echoed through the bedroom.

“That’s it, that’s it.” Eggsy eases two fingers into him, gently scissoring, before adding a third. “Let me know if this hurts or you’re uncomfortable.”

In a moment of stunning clarity, Merlin realized what Eggsy is doing – he is treating him like a virgin. That is ridiculous, of course – Eggsy knows that Merlin had been a married man; that he'd had a very satisfying physical relationship with Harry. He tries to say that he’d done this before, but Eggsy finds his joy button and he loses all capacity for speech, for rational thought.

Eggsy is kissing him, his tongue licking at him, teeth biting, the small pain intending to distract. But there is no pain. Eggsy has prepped him so perfectly, he is so relaxed, so eager that when his cock, wide and meaty, but not overly long, presses against his hole, it slides in without pain.

Merlin watches Eggsy’s face as he moved over him, taking him, taking everything that Merlin had to give. The darkness is still there – the memory of everything he's lost – but there is joy, too, a sense of renewal that builds as Eggsy works his cock so carefully, never too fast, too rough. 

“You don’t have to be this gentle. I won’t break.”

“But I think _I_ will.” Eggsy’s reply devastates him, but his hands tighten on his hips, thrusts speed up, and as his belly kept rubbing against Merlin’s cock, he knew that it wouldn’t last much longer for either of them. He wrapped his legs around Eggsy’s hips, his thighs burning as he pulled him closer, unable to bear even the moment’s separation. 

His orgasm, when it comes, is a slow explosion of desire. His muscles clamp down against Eggsy’s cock, extending the pleasure until it borders on pain. Eggsy groaned and buries his face in Merlin’s neck as his own ardor crests, his hips, his cock pounding into him.

Eggsy finally stills and the only sound is the counterpoint of their panting breath. For a fleeting moment, Merlin thinks he could lie here, under Eggsy, forever and be content.

That is not to be. All too soon, Eggsy moved off him and Merlin is left empty, bereft. He must have made a sound, because Eggsy cups his cheek in comfort. "Shh, I'll be right back."

The lad disappears for a moment and Merlin hears the water running in the bathroom. It gets louder and he realizes that Eggsy must be taking a shower. But no – the sound continues as Eggsy comes out with a damp flannel. "The bathtub in there is a treat for the gods. What do you say we share it? Let the heat take the rest of the kinks out."

Merlin hums in agreement as Eggsy cleanse away his sweat and spunk, and it's not hard for Merlin to feel cherished. After sex with Harry, he'd usually been the caretaker, but this is a nice change.

"Come on, upsy-daisy." Eggsy urges Merlin out of bed and onto his feet, coaxing him towards the suite's palatial bathroom. Eggsy helps Merlin climb in and follows him into the hot water. The tub is big enough for both of them to sit across from each other, but somehow Merlin finds himself using Eggsy as a body pillow. It should be physically awkward, giving their height difference, but the buoyancy of the water and the sloping back of the tub made everything work.

Merlin relaxes against Eggsy, enjoying the heat from the water, the solidness of the man behind him, but not in a sexual way. It's the pleasure of simple companionship, something that Merlin's missed so desperately.

"You all right?"

"Yeah, I think so." Merlin sighs and tries to sort out all of the complicated feelings.

"Are you sorry about tonight?"

"A little." Merlin has to be honest, and with that honesty, the dam breaks. "There's no going back now. No more pretending that the last two years never happened, that Harry's away for some long trip but he'll be home soon. Because if that had been the case, this – " Merlin gestures around the room, "would never have happened."

Eggsy rests his chin on Merlin's shoulder. "I'm sorry." But he makes no move to untangle their bodies.

"Don't be. I wanted this. I asked ye to come back here. Ye gave me every chance to say no, to say stop, to end it before it began."

Eggsy doesn't say anything, but he doesn't really have to.

And the walls that Merlin has built around his emotions keep crumbling. "Harry would have hated what I've become. Cold, closed off, ignoring everything that really matters. He wanted me to find joy again. To be happy again."

Eggsy brushes his lips against Merlin's shoulder. "You deserve happiness. We all do. But it can't be forced, either. Sometimes you need to grieve. There's no timeline for that."

Merlin twists around and looks at Eggsy. "How did ye get to be so fucking wise?"

Eggsy looks like he's about to answer, but he shakes his head instead, dismissing the words he'd been about to say. 

Merlin doesn't force the point and eases back against Eggsy's chest. The silence feels weighted, fraught, and there's something he has to say. Something he's kept buried inside, a dead seed that needs to be dug out. "Harry wanted me to help him die. The last few weeks – he was in so much pain and the drugs could barely take the edge off. He wanted me to kill him before he lost his mind to the agony."

Eggsy wraps his arms around Merlin and holds him tightly.

"I couldn't. As much as I hated watching Harry suffer, I couldn't bear the thought of losing him one second before I had to. I was a right selfish pig."

"You loved him."

"If I loved him better," Merlin gasps on that last word. "I wouldn't have clung to some stupid, foolish hope for a miracle. I would have …" Merlin shudders and the last of the walls fall down. "I wouldn't have I wouldn't have let him suffer so much." The tears – more than two years-worth – begin to fall, and Merlin can't stop crying. He weeps without shame, letting Eggsy hold him, tucking his head against his shoulder, murmuring words of comfort and encouragement.

At some point, after the storm passes, Eggsy gets them out of the tub and into the warm terry robes that the hotel provides, drying Merlin off and getting him into bed. But Eggsy doesn't join him. Instead, he curls up on a chair, the white hotel robe making him look a bit ghostly in the near-darkness and watches Merlin with unwavering intent.

"Lad?"

"I'm not leaving." Eggsy's saying so much in those words. 

"I'm not going to do something stupid."

"I'm still not leaving."

Merlin doesn't have the will to argue or fight. He just … "I don't want ye to. The bed's a bit more comfortable than the chair, though."

Eggsy sighs. "Are you sure?"

"Ye kissed me, ye fucked me, ye bathed me and held me when I bawled like an infant, why would I be unsure about sharing a bed with ye?"

Eggsy says quietly, "Because sleeping with someone might be the most intimate thing of all. I didn't want to presume."

"Come to bed, Eggsy. Please. I'd like to hold ye for a while."

Eggsy gets up and takes off his robe with little ceremony. This is really the first time he's seen Eggsy completely naked. What happened earlier had been a thing of mirrors and hands and desire. Now, Merlin looks his fill. It's almost a pity that he's weary to the soul, because Eggsy should be worshiped like the dangerous young god that he is.

Eggsy settles next to him and asks him again, "Are you all right?" 

"Yeah, Eggsy. I think I am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Notes for Chapter Two**
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> I am not sure if it's makeup for the photoshoot or real, but I've become obsessed by the very faded tattoo on Mark Strong's right hand - one that is usually tucked away in his photoshoots:
> 
>  


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornings after are always awkward, especially when you've just called your bedmate by your dead husband's name.

Merlin wakes slowly out of a deep sleep. The bed is warm and his husband's curls tease his nose. "Mmm, Harry – had the strangest dream." Still half-asleep, he snuggles against his husband's back, rubbing his cheek against Harry's shoulder blade, breathing in his familiar scent.

Except it's not familiar at all. After so many decades, Merlin knows exactly what his husband's scent is, even if he's experimenting with different bath products (not an unknown event). He opens his eyes and the man in the bed next to him is definitely not his husband.

Memory floods back and Merlin rolls away from Eggsy. _The tailor. He had sex with his dead husband's favorite tailor._

The lad's awake and Merlin feels him get up and get out of bed. He doesn't say anything but there's a susurration, the slide of fabric over skin and then the bed dips as Eggsy sits down. Merlin rolls over meets Eggsy worried gaze. He feels compelled to apologize.

"I'm sorry."

"For what? Calling me Harry?"

"Aye. That wasn't well done of me."

Eggsy shakes his head and gives him a kind, sad smile. "You shared a bed with only one man for more than two-thirds of your life. I think it's perfectly acceptable to have a bit of confusion when you wake up." He reaches out to brush Merlin's cheek.

Merlin shakes his head. "When I woke up and found I wasn't alone, I thought everything that had happened had been just a bad dream."

The kindness in Eggsy's eyes hardens into something that Merlin doesn't recognize. The lad gets up and moves as far from the bed as possible. "I'll get out of your … hair … then." He's picking up his clothes and just about runs into the bathroom, the door closed sharply behind him.

Merlin is startled by the complete change in Eggsy's demeanor. He isn't really sure what he feels for Eggsy, but last night had been a watershed for him. Yes, he woke up dreaming that Harry hadn't died, but he'd fallen asleep realizing that he – Merlin Raeburn – wants to live.

And then it hits him – what he'd just said to Eggsy – _"When I woke up and found I wasn't alone, I thought everything that had happened had been just a bad dream."_ His words had been terribly vague and Eggsy must have thought he was probably talking about last night. 

Merlin tosses back the covers and gets out of bed. He doesn't bother with a robe as he goes to taps on the bathroom door. "Eggsy? Lad?"

There's no answer but for the sound of running water – the sink, not the shower or bathtub – and Merlin waits. It seems to take forever, but finally the door opens and Merlin's greeted by a fully dressed Eggsy, sartorially perfect except for the water-slicked hair. 

"Excuse me." The lad won't meet Merlin's eyes as he tries to push past him.

Even though it might be emotionally simpler to let Eggsy leave on the basis of a misunderstanding, Merlin finds that he doesn't want simple. He doesn't want to let Eggsy go. "I think I expressed myself badly." Merlin puts a restraining hand on Eggsy's arm. "What I meant was that I thought that Harry's death, the emptiness I've felt since he died, had been a bad dream. Not what happened last night. I'm sorry that I hurt ye."

Eggsy stops and looks at him, but doesn't say anything. 

"Lad?"

"It's all right. I understand."

"I mean it. And as for what I feel about last night – I'm not sure I can put that into words, but I can tell ye that regret plays no part in it. You've given me an unexpected gift."

The stern detachment that had been so alien on Eggsy's face crumbles into uncertainty. "I was very pushy last night. You were drinking."

"A few glasses of wine won't impair me. Might lower my defenses a bit, but I knew exactly what I was doing, I knew exactly what I wanted from ye. Last night was beautiful. Ye made me very happy – something I never thought I could be ever again."

That confession rocks Eggsy back on his heels. But he smiles and wariness disappears. "Good – I mean. I'm glad. That I could make you feel like that." Eggsy bites his lip and looks up at Merlin through ridiculously long eyelashes. The expression isn't seductive, but charming.

And Merlin finds himself reacting to that, rather unexpectedly. "I think I need to get some clothes on."

That earns him a laugh, which might be a bit flirtatious, but Merlin's not going to press his luck. "Would you like to have breakfast with me?"

"Sure."

"The hotel restaurant or room service?" Merlin hopes Eggsy wants room service. He knows _he'd_ like a bit more private time with the lad.

"Room service is fine. The full English?"

"Sound's good." 

Eggsy heads into the living room and Merlin gathers up some fresh small clothes and heads into the bathroom. 

It's been a long time since Merlin's really looked at himself. If asked, it'd be kind of hard to explain, but since Harry – he's just not wanted to see himself, his mortal frame, except in the most cursory way, and mostly just to check if his head needs a shave or if he'd gotten bruised in the boxing ring. 

Now, though, he gives himself a thorough look; he wants to know what Eggsy sees in him. And honestly, Merlin's fairly pleased. He's more than fit for a man five years past the half-century mark. At least his body is. His face, on the other hand, seems to belong to a man thirty years older. It's not the lack of hair or the beak of a nose that Harry had fondly said was the definition of "aquiline". It's his eyes – they are tired, sunken. It's his mouth, bracketed by deep lines. Merlin stares at himself and shudders.

He looks just like his father, except for the alcoholic's bright red nose. His father had been a man born to disappointment, a wanna-be musician who'd knocked up a local girl and blamed her and their child – and not his lack of talent – for his lost dreams. 

Merlin has always wondered what would have happened to him if he hadn't had that one teacher who'd seen under the angry skin of a street kid and pushed him to be better. Who had made him take entrance exams and write essays, who had gathered recommendations and found a scholarship for him. 

To fucking Winchester College. 

Well, first off, he'd never have met Harry. He'd never have found a life and a career he loved. He'd have probably died young, either from a needle or AIDS or a knife between the ribs because Glasgow isn't kind to its poor and angry children.

And then he thinks of Eggsy and the little bit the lad's told him about himself. He'd found his own mentor, someone who's seen the potential, seen the passion, and helped him find a way out.

They're not so different, it seems and Merlin finds a queer kind of pleasure in that kinship. He smiles and suddenly, he doesn't look like his father at all.

_Enough of this._

Merlin takes care of his morning business, except for cleaning up his tonsure. There's a bit of rough stubble, but he's not in the mood to deal with it right now, it takes too much time to do right. He'd rather have breakfast with Eggsy.

And that makes him smile for a whole other reason. _Hamish and Eggsy. Ham and Eggs_. Harry would undoubtedly piss himself laughing.

Dressed in a pair of casual slacks and a dark button-down shirt, he finds Eggsy at the oversized dining table in the suite's living room, a cup of coffee at his elbow, holding a neatly folded copy of the International Times. He looks so much like Harry that Merlin gets a bit dizzy from the déjà vu.

"Morning." Eggsy puts down the paper and gets up. "I ordered breakfast, but there's a decent coffee machine here if you don't want to wait for room service. Shall I pour a cup for you?"

"Sit, lad. I can get my own." Truthfully, he's more of tea in the morning kind of person, but he's also a man with particular tastes and he doubts the hotel, as fine as it is, stocks his favorite Scottish Breakfast (there's a couple of boxes stowed in the luggage he's had shipped from London, but that's not here yet). He fixes his coffee and sits across from Eggsy. He can see that Eggsy's a bit nervous and a little withdrawn. Almost the complete opposite of the self-confident man he'd been at dinner last night.

Merlin wants to fix that. "You're a good and kind man, Eggsy Unwin."

Eggsy looks at him, startled.

"There aren't too many people who'd do what you've done for me."

Eggsy's about to reply when a low chime signals the arrival of breakfast. Merlin gestures for Eggsy to stay seated and deals with the bellhop and the food.

They eat with the intent of two men with a well-earned hunger, without the barest of conversation. It's only when Merlin wipes the toast crumbs from his lips and Eggsy takes his tie out from where he'd tucked it into his shirt, that the simmering tension returns.

"Can I ask you something?" Eggsy sounds nervous.

"Aye."

"Did you really mean what you said earlier? About having no regrets?"

Merlin catches Eggsy's gaze and nods. "I have absolutely no regrets, Eggsy. Do you?"

The lad shakes his head. "None. I just don't want to go home and wonder if you'd thought I'd crossed a line."

Merlin's surprised at Eggsy's fretting. "I was the one who made the running. I invited you back here. I never once said no."

"I was flirting with you, though." There a dark blush staining his cheeks.

"And I'm old enough, strong enough, to resist the blandishments of pretty young men if I really wanted to." Eggsy bites his lip and looks away, and Merlin's not so sure that the lad hasn't lied to him. "Are you sure ye don't have regrets?"

Eggsy doesn't answer, he just sits there and looks more miserable with every heartbeat.

Merlin wonders if it's a mistake to push, but he doesn't want to leave this unresolved. "Eggsy, talk to me."

"You'll think I'm crazy. Or a bit creepy. Or both." But that's all that Eggsy says.

Something occurs to Merlin, it feels a little ugly, but he has to ask. "Are you feeling like I cheated on Harry?"

Eggsy looks at him, eyes wide, expression appalled. "No – of course not."

Merlin believes Eggsy, but he also believes there's something else there. "But?"

Eggsy's perfect posture collapses into a defeated slump. "I feel like _I've_ cheated on Harry. On both of you."

Merlin is utterly confused. "Lad, ye're making no sense at all."

"No, of course not." Eggsy leans on the table and buries his face in his hands. "It's foolish and stupid and I just … I wish you really did regret last night, that you'd hoped it was a bad dream. This would be so much easier if you just kicked me out."

Merlin goes to sit next to Eggsy, putting his hand on Eggsy's back. "Talk to me. Tell me what you're thinking." It's odd how their roles have reversed; last night, Eggsy had been the one to comfort him, to help him work through his demons.

Eggsy sits up but Merlin doesn't let go, sliding his hand down Eggsy's shoulder and taking Eggsy's hand. "Talk to me. I won't judge ye."

Eggsy nods, giving Merlin a slightly rueful and mostly ashamed look. "I told you, when I first met Harry, all he talked about was you. How amazing you were, how long you'd been together, how you meant everything to him."

"Harry occasionally lacked filters." Merlin offers in a bland tone. That had been something he'd learned to live with over the decades.

Eggsy chuckles, "That's putting it mildly." But he pulls the rug out from under Merlin's feet. "That's when I fell in love with him. Not romantically, but – hell, I don't know how to explain it without sounding like an idiot or a creeper. It's like Harry was this incredible Disney princess and you were his prince. That's what I fell in love with – that this posh, upper-crust, aristocrat could be so incredibly free about his feelings. No filters, no shame. He talked about you and I expected blue birds to burst into song. I might have been new at Kingsman, but I'd met my share of toffs by that time. And Harry Hart wasn't like any of them."

Merlin grins. "Ye're absolutely right, Harry Hart was a goddamn Disney princess – Snow White and Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty all rolled up into one." He can't help but remember the first time Harry had dragged him to the Butterfly Paradise at the London Zoo, and how delighted Harry had been at the colorful insects flitting about him – exactly like something out of Cinderella. "But I'm no Disney prince."

Eggsy shrugs. "Don't know about that. And I probably shouldn't tell you this but I kind of hated you at first. When Harry was talking about you. Before I met you."

That doesn't surprise Merlin, especially if the lad had been infatuated with Harry. He'd seen it time and time again.

"But hate's probably not the right word. More like, terrified of you. For Harry's sake. I was terrified that you could destroy him. So yeah, it's all kinds of weird and creepy – I barely knew Harry Hart. I was just a novice tailor taking measurements, and all I could think was, 'someone needs to protect this man'."

And now Merlin understands completely. "Ah, lad – it's not weird and creepy at all. Like you said, Harry Hart appeared to be the most helpless of Disney princesses, but he didn't need your protection. He might have seemed like the human equivalent of a golden retriever puppy, but trust me, he had a set of very strong, sharp teeth."

Eggsy shakes his head. "I'm sure of that when it came to other things, but at first, I really worried that he'd need protection from _you_. My protection – as ridiculous as that sounds. Don't know if you remember, but he'd dragged you into Kingman when he had the final fitting on that first suit. That's when I met you the first time."

Merlin thinks back, but the memory doesn't solidify. 

"You came into the shop with Harry, but you were talking on your phone, trying to get some important shit done, and Harry just looked at you and smiled and I though, oh boy – why is this wonderful man still with that arsehole?"

Merlin laughs, not the least bit offended. "What made you change your mind?"

"I followed Harry out of the fitting room, he was wearing the suit and wanted to model it for you. You were still blathering on about something, still on the phone, but when you saw him, you ended the call without another word and smiled at Harry. If Harry looked at you like you were his entire world, you looked at him as if he held the secrets of the universe and whispered them to you in the middle of the night. You loved him as much as he loved you. And that you stood there, in this bastion of traditional masculinity and told Harry he was beautiful." 

Eggsy shakes his head. "That's what I fell in love with. The love you had for each other and the absolute lack of care about what anyone else thought. Two middle-aged blokes who lived through the plague years, who were probably fucking when fucking could get you a prison sentence. Two men who couldn't be shamed into silence. Not something I've ever really seen before. Not between two blokes, not between a bird and a bloke. My mum loved my dad, but I've always wondered if it would have lasted. She was a needy woman and I don't think my dad would have tolerated that in the long term. Or maybe his death made her needy and they would have lived happily ever after, if he'd lived."

"Eggsy – " 

"I know, weird and creepy, right? To fall in love with a pair of happily married blokes – and not really 'in love' – just in love with what you have with each other. Such a rare and beautiful thing."

"Not weird or creepy at all." Unexpectedly on the verge of tears, Merlin lets out a shuddering sigh. "It's really very beautiful, lad. Harry would have been honored. And he would have peacocked about it endlessly."

Eggsy wipes his nose. "I didn't sleep with you because of Harry, you know. Even though I felt – afterwards – this morning, like I'd cheated on the two of you. With you. God, that makes no sense at all."

"It does, Eggsy. You've got a lovely, caring heart. You believe in love, and that's a rare thing." Merlin wonders how this is even possible, but he's not going to question it.

Eggsy looks at him, as open and as vulnerable as a human being can get. "I wanted you last night. You, _not_ Harry. Not you _and_ Harry. I wanted just you, Merlin Raeburn." There's a tremor in the lad's voice – it's pure emotion. "I'm not the kind of bloke who'll pick up strange men in bars or clubs – but if I'd seen you sitting at a bar, even if I hadn't known you, I still would have tried."

When Merlin doesn't answer, Eggsy sighs. "I've ruined it, haven't I?"

Merlin's quick to reassure him. "No, lad. You just take my breath away." He leans in and kisses Eggsy, savoring the taste of coffee and strawberry jam. "I didn't expect this – this happiness. I didn't expect to feel this again."

Eggsy leans against him. "I'm going back to England tonight."

"I know. And perhaps I'm a little relieved. Do ye understand what I'm saying?"

Eggsy nods. "Yeah. I get it. It's all a bit much, a bit sudden. You've got a business to get off the ground, I've got obligations back in London. Neither of us can afford distractions."

"But that doesn't mean we can't stay in touch, right?" Merlin tilts up Eggsy's chin.

The smile on Eggsy's face is the broadest, brightest one yet. "I'd like that."

"And maybe you'd like this, too." Merlin kisses Eggsy again. He murmurs against Eggsy's lips. "What time do you need to leave for the airport?"

"My flight's not until seven. I have plenty of time. You happen to be free this afternoon?" There's an invitation in Eggsy's smile.

"I think so." Merlin toys with the buttons on Eggsy's shirt, sliding his hand underneath the fine cotton, finding warm skin and teases one of Eggsy's nipples. "I think we can find something to do to make the time pass a little more quickly."

Eggsy's panting a little, whining a little and it doesn't take a lot of coaxing to get Eggsy back into the bedroom, where Merlin takes his time taking Eggsy apart. It's only when Eggsy's cell phone rings – a call from the hotel registration desk reminding him that checkout was an hour ago – that they emerge from a delightful fog of sexual companionship.

Before Merlin goes with Eggsy to retrieve his luggage – just one piece, as the lad said last night – he calls housekeeping and asks them to change the linens and restock the personal supplies.

It's close to four in the afternoon when Eggsy's phone rings again, this time it's just an alarm reminding him that his car service will be arriving in an hour.

Eggsy tries to drag him into the shower, but Merlin has to decline. "I'm spent, lad. I don't even know how ye got this much out of me. Besides, ye've not got much time and I'd still like to give ye a proper goodbye."

At that, Eggsy's face falls and he sighs. "It really is going to be goodbye."

"For now." Merlin all but pushes Eggsy into the shower. "Wash up and we'll talk when you're done."

Eggsy goes reluctantly and Merlin makes use of the suite's second bathroom for his own ablutions. Fifteen minutes later, he meets Eggsy in the living room. Eggsy has his carry-on slung over a shoulder and his suit jacket in hand. He's not wearing a tie and his shirt's open collar reveals that very enticing mole that Merlin had discovered this morning.

"This is it." Eggsy bites his lip. "I feel …" He shakes his head.

Heart full of emotion, Merlin cups Eggsy cheek. "We're going to stay in touch, right?"

"Yeah, hell yeah. Give me your phone."

Merlin does as Eggsy asks. "I'm not really much for social media." Truthfully, he hates the idea of putting on a show for the whole world to see, but he's willing to do so for Eggsy. 

"I'm giving you my private Instagram account – you can ignore the public feed. Not on Twitter – too much crap there, and my Facebook will probably bore you to death. Mostly business stuff – I don't think you're all that interested in seeing a bunch of tailoring hints in your feed." 

Eggsy hands him back his phone. "Email is good, texting is good, and you know – you can call if you want. I wouldn't mind hearing your voice. It's … " Eggsy gives him a sly grin, "kinda hot." 

Despite last night, this morning, Merlin finds himself blushing. "Lad …"

Eggsy's phone buzzes again. "Damn, my car's almost here."

"Can I come down with ye?" There's now a cold pit in Merlin's belly. He doesn't want to say goodbye, he doesn't want to let the warmth go.

"Please?" 

Eggsy's eyes go wide, and Merlin's reminded of Harry – they seem to have matching puppy-dog looks. And all of a sudden, Merlin realizes that the thought of Harry doesn't bring cause the deep, crippling pain he'd become accustomed to. 

"Of course." Merlin retrieves his wallet and room key and they head down to the lobby. At the entrance, there's a black car waiting and the bell hop tells Eggsy that the car is for him. Merlin feels at sea – unsure how to say goodbye. He finds himself wanting to beg Eggsy to say, as impossible as it would be.

Eggsy gives voice to those exact thoughts. "I'd stay if I could."

"But you can't." 

"I can't. But we'll stay in touch. I'm not letting you go so easily." Eggsy grabs Merlin's shirt and pulls him down. "You're important to me, Merlin Raeburn, and I want you in my life – as much as you'll allow."

Before Eggsy can act, Merlin kisses him, and it's a kiss full of promise and intent. "I want you in my life, too." He sighs against Eggsy's lips. "Go, go before I don't let you leave."

Eggsy returns that kiss, that sigh and finally lets go. "I'll talk to you soon. That's a promise."

Merlin watches Eggsy get into the car and he stands there as it pulls away, disappearing into the late afternoon traffic. As he heads back into the hotel, he wonders at how his life has changed in less than twenty-four hours. He doesn't love Eggsy Unwin, he doesn't know if that's possible, but he marvels that the joy the lad's returned to his life. He hadn't been caught up in the moment when he'd realized that he'd fallen asleep last night knowing that he truly wants to live.

It's going to be hard. Merlin's too self-aware not to know that there are going to be times when he falls back into the aching despair he'd been living with since Harry had died. He's going to have to fight against pushing Eggsy away and burying himself in work. It's going to be work to keep this feeling alive, especially with what he's got facing him for the next six months.

But he's going to do the work, he's going to live and he's going to teach himself that it's all right to be happy again. 

He's waiting for the elevator when his cellphone buzzes with an incoming text. It's from Eggsy. _Miss me?_

Merlin smiles and types out a quick reply. _Absolutely_.

A few seconds later, Eggsy's reply appears. _Good, because I miss you too_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matthew Vaughn has confirmed that Merlin comes from a working class background, and although James MacAvoy (Mark Strong's co-star in _Welcome to the Punch_ ) commented that Mark's Scottish accent is "perfect Stirling", I've make him a Glaswegian. Glasgow is the largest city in Scotland, and a one time, an epicenter of industry. Since the 1950s, however, it is also the city where its residents have the shortest life expectancy/highest mortality rate in the British Isles. It's called the [Glasgow Effect](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glasgow_effect), and this is the environment that produced our Merlin.
> 
> Merlin escaped via a scholarship to Winchester College, the oldest public school in England (and probably an unlikely destination for young Hamish), but it also seemed to be the perfect environment for meeting Harry.
> 
> As for Merlin's family – particularly his father – well, I couldn't resist dipping into the "Our Friends in the North" pool.
> 
> While homosexual acts were generally decriminalized in 1967, there was an unequal age of consent – 21 years old versus 16 for heterosexuals, which wasn't changed until 2000.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin returns home to London. He's weary and worn out from the journey, but he's found that his life has meaning again. The first order of business is sleep. The second, see Eggsy.

Exhausted from a thirteen hour flight in a coach cabin filled with screaming infants, it's a little after two AM when Merlin lets himself into the house in Stanhope Mews. At first he thinks he's in the wrong house – there's a decided lack of butterflies and ugly artwork on the walls, and instead of the musty smell of a home that's been closed up for more than half a year, the odor of fresh paint and woodwork fills the air.

He definitely must be tired to have forgotten that the house had been renovated while he'd been away. At first, he'd thought to simply have it slightly redecorated – the quasi-Victorian fussiness that Harry had loved toned down a bit. But in the nature of such things, the project became much more than that – just something shy of a complete gut job on the first floor. Modern communications technology and the willingness to spend freely had enabled Merlin to maintain a hands-on approach and as he looks around, seeing his redone home in the flesh for the first time, he breathes a sigh of relief.

Harry's still here, but instead of walls filled with cases of mounted butterflies, there are just Merlin's favorites – four specimen cases representing the four decades of their life together. The artwork has been toned down, too – and considerably more than the butterflies. The dark paintings that had almost completely covered the staircase walls are gone, the woodwork stripped of decades of paint and varnished to a warm glow. 

Merlin climbs those stairs, smiling as he puts his foot down on the fourth step and doesn't hear a creak. Nor is there one on the seventh or the twelfth. He'd refused to give the go-ahead to work on the bedroom level, there is too much that's too private and personal in these rooms, so he'd only permitted a refurbishment of the hallway floors and walls. 

He goes into the bedroom he'd occupied in the years after Harry's death and drops his luggage on the floor and looks around. The space is clean, almost sterile. White linens, dark duvet, not a single picture or painting on the walls. The only decoration is a framed photograph on the nightstand. Their wedding portrait.

Merlin sits on the bed and picks it up, rubbing his thumb of the glass that covers Harry's face. "I'm home, love." He sighs and lets the ache of grief roll through him. It's not crippling anymore, but a pain he knows he'll live with for the rest of his life. He loves Harry and there are still days he wonders how he manages without him, but those days come further and further apart. 

He's learned to live again, to love again. Something that should have been impossible, but instead has been a precious gift.

His phone buzzes with an incoming text. It's from James.

_You make it home?"_

_Of course._

_Everything all right? House all right?_

James – his business partner in the China venture – had been the one to urge him forward with the refurbishment, had been the one who'd helped with the contractors and the contracts, making certain that Merlin wouldn't come home to a disaster. 

_House seems to be fine. Everything I've seen looks good. Will explore a bit more after I get some sleep._

James doesn't reply – but that's James. Merlin heads into the bathroom and turns on the shower. The pipes gurgle a bit – no more than usual for an older house with upgraded plumbing – and steam quickly fills the chilly room, warming Merlin as he strips to the skin. The almost painful beat of hot water on his skin, more than anything else, reinforces the fact that that he's home. He'd only spent a few nights in the suite at the Four Seasons, the remaining six months in Hong Kong were in a rather dull and charmless apartment a few blocks from the office. Like everything else about the rental, the water pressure had been barely adequate.

As invigorating as the shower is, by the time Merlin turns off the water, he feels like a sack of sand and barely takes the time to dry off before falling face first into bed. He vaguely remembers getting up to relieve his bladder a few times, but it's after four PM – thirteen hours later – that Merlin wakes up for good. He's a little disoriented at first, the sunlight is coming into the room from the wrong direction and the traffic sounds are far too muted, but then Merlin remembers – he's home. In London. Back where he belongs.

His stomach rumbles, reminding him that it's been close to a full day since he's had a decent meal, and he gets dressed and heads downstairs. There's the bare minimum fresh food in the kitchen, per the instructions he'd left with his housekeeping service – eggs, milk, butter, a loaf of bread, a fresh carton of his favorite tea. Merlin sets the electric kettle and puts a few slices of toast up. He contemplates the idea of eggs, but discards it. He's definitely not up to cooking anything and the change in time zones are going to play havoc with his body's clock for the next few days. It's always this way – outbound, he never has a problem but coming back always seems to be a bit of a nightmare.

As he's waiting for the tea and toast, Merlin wanders through the kitchen, thoroughly pleased with the renovations. It still feels like home, as opposed to a glossy magazine layout, but everything has been freshened up. 

Merlin lets out a little sigh of sadness. Probably the only thing that he and Harry had consistently bickered about was the state of the kitchen. Harry had wanted to renovate, Merlin hadn't wanted to deal with the mess of a renovation and suggested moving. They'd both been immovable on the subject, and thus nothing had ever happened.

Moving is still an option for Merlin. Part of his decision to renovate during the sojourn in China had been to make the house more salable. He's come to realize that it might be impossible to move forward if he stays here. 

Sipping his tea, Merlin yawns and despite the round-the-clock sleep he'd just had, he feels like he could go another twelve hours with ease. But he doesn't give into the urge, knowing it would be better to stay up for a few more hours and go back to bed at a normal London time. 

Merlin scrolls through the texts and emails that he hadn't looked at during the trip from Heathrow last night, plus the dozens that arrived since he'd gotten home. Most can be ignored until, but there are a few that he responds to, including the confirmation for a fitting consultation at Kingsman Tailors tomorrow morning at eleven-fifteen.

He checks Eggsy's Instagram feed – the private one that Eggsy had given him access to – and there are a few new photos, including ones of a custom project that makes Merlin wince. He comments, _Tangerine velvet? Really?_

There's no reply to the comment, not that Merlin expects one. It's Thursday and Eggsy's working; there will be plenty of time to give the lad the business – about the jacket and a few other things – tomorrow. 

Merlin can't help but reflect on the last six months, how he'd agreed to James' idea to stand up a branch of his company in China out of desperation – a need to escape a lifetime of memories, of unyielding and bottomless grief. He been in Hong Kong just long enough to shake off the jet lag, but he'd still been drowning in grief when he'd met Eggsy, whose own, honest grief at Merlin's loss had somehow become a way forward, a way to live without Harry – but without forgetting Harry.

In the time since they'd parted in Hong Kong, Merlin's come to believe – with the unwavering faith of the newly converted – that Eggsy had been Harry's last gift to Merlin. 

Not that his husband had ever hinted to the lad that he could find happiness with Merlin after Harry had died – Eggsy hadn't even known that Harry had been deathly sick. Nor had it been Harry's filterless peacocking and endless praise of Merlin to a young man who'd been little more than a stranger. 

No, it had been something simple, something of such perfect coincidence that Merlin can't help but see the touch of the divine – or perhaps Harry's fine hand – in it. 

In a conversation he'd had with Eggsy a few weeks after the lad had returned to England, Eggsy had shyly admitted that he'd only been at the restaurant where they'd met because Harry had told him that's where he'd proposed when Eggsy had been fitting Harry for his wedding suit. 

Eggsy had wanted to make – as he'd put it – a pilgrimage to the scene of what had to be one of the most romantic proposals in the history of the human race. He'd even specifically asked for a harbor-side table and had come by himself. 

Of course Harry had no way of knowing what would come – that his life would be cut short, that grief and circumstance would bring Merlin face to face with the one man who could give his life new meaning. But Merlin absolutely believes that had Harry known, this is exactly what he would have done.

And that's just what Merlin told Eggsy when Eggsy had been cringing with embarrassment.

_"You mean it, I'm Harry's last gift to you?"_

_"With all my heart."_

_"Then you really don't mind that I've been a silly fanboy about you and Harry?"_

_"Nay, lad. And it's not silly at all."_ Merlin had to laugh. In his business, he's learned all about fannish behavior, and he's frankly charmed at the idea that he and Harry had their own little fandom. Harry would have been insufferable with delight had he known.

The thought of the lad warms Merlin and he's all too tempted to call Eggsy and let him know that he's back from Hong Kong a week early. But Merlin wants to surprise Eggsy tomorrow; he'd made the appointment at Kingsman as "H. Rayburne", and Merlin's knows that he has no clue that Merlin's birth name is the detested "Hamish". 

He hopes Eggsy won't be overly annoyed at the deception. When the contractors had told Merlin that the renovations had been complete five weeks ahead of schedule – something that still seems impossible – Merlin had done everything possible to wrap up his stay in China. James had agreed to stay on for a few more months, overseeing the last of the hiring and the negotiation of several profitable contracts and had all but put Merlin on the plane.

Admittedly, Merlin hadn't fought hard against James, even going so far as to fly coach for thirteen hours when he couldn't book a first class seat home.

No, Eggsy won't be annoyed, at least not for more than a moment or two. Merlin knows that Eggsy's as eager to see him as he's eager to see Eggsy. Frequent – sometimes daily – messaging and telephone calls and FaceTime have brought them closer than Merlin could ever have imagined, but there really is no substitute for the true warmth of human contact.

It is possible that what they feel for each other might not survive the day-to-day reality of a man who'd lived nearly his entire life with one person, that the age difference might become insurmountable, or that they discover that the connection they'd forged in Hong Kong had been a fluke. But Merlin doesn't believe that at all. Eggsy's seen him at his worst – not just the post-coital emotional breakdown, but the bad days he'd had since – times when he fell back into grief, times when he'd refused to accept even the slightest bit of comfort and had closed himself off from Eggsy with sharp words. 

But even after experiencing Merlin at his worst, Eggsy had kept coming back, kept giving of himself, kept reassuring Merlin that life is still worth living. 

It hadn't been a one-way street, though. Eggsy had returned to London, to a simple tailoring position. It had been a hard adjustment, going from senior management, responsible for decisions that could cost the company millions, to being relatively low man on the Kingsman's totem pole. He'd listen to Eggsy bitch and moan, encouraged him when he'd been down, offered advice when it hadn't been asked for.

 _"I've been offered a teaching position at the Savile Row Academy. Seems that Chester King – that old wanker – recommended me."_ Eggsy rarely had complimentary things to say about the head of Kingsman; he'd found him to be a hidebound fussbudget who thought it was still 1951. _"They want me to teach a program on how to set up a tailoring business."_

_"Sounds like that's right up your alley, lad. You were a big success here."_

_"So, I should do it? I never really thought of myself as a teacher."_

_"I think you'd be a natural. You have a gift for making things understandable."_

_"Really? Thanks."_ Merlin can see Eggsy's blush of pleasure at the praise across the video chat. _"I was also thinking, I'd like to pass forward what Mr. Hirsch taught me. It's only right. Maybe go and offer my skills at a vocational college."_

 _"I think that is the most wonderful, most Eggsy Unwin thing I've ever heard."_

Eggsy's blush had deepened and he'd ducked his head. _"Aw, guv – you're gonna make me bawl."_

Merlin had been able to tell just how deep his compliments had affected Eggsy; he only reverts back to his North London accent when he's overcome with emotion.

Over the months, they'd talked extensively about Eggsy making the foray into teaching and as Merlin had predicted, the lad had taken to educating like a duckling to water. He's still in the process of building a curriculum for the posh job at the Academy, but his offer to teach the basics of tailoring at a London vocational college had been met with an immediate and positive response. It's rather uncommon for a master tailor, especially one from such a high-end establishment as Kingsman, to volunteer his services, and the school had latched onto Eggsy like an octopus.

Right now, Merlin's grateful for Eggsy's new gig. He's teaching tonight and won't be home until after ten, too late for Merlin – who's struggling to stay awake – to ruin the surprise by popping over to Eggsy's Bloomsbury flat.

Deciding that it's late enough somewhere in Europe, Merlin hauls himself back upstairs and gets ready for bed, just as if it's an ordinary night. He hopes that the routine will make it easier to fall back to sleep – well that, and a nice, leisurely wank to the memory of Eggsy sucking his cock.

The routine _and_ the wank must have helped, because Merlin drifted off easily and slept through the night, waking up with his alarm at seven-thirty in the morning. The last of the jet lag was gone and Merlin felt ready to plunge back into his normal routine. Before he gets out of bed, he checks his messages – there's one from Eggsy, defending the choice of fabric.

_It's stunning, can't wait to model it for you._

Merlin grins and replies, _Can't wait to get you out of it._

Eggsy's answer is quick and to the point. _Don't tease when you won't be back for another week. My balls are turning blue."_

This could quickly descend into sexting, something that they've indulged in many times over the last six months, but Merlin wants to wait for the real thing. _Patience, lad. I'll be home soon enough._

There's still no real food in the house, so after his morning routine, Merlin heads out, to a favorite coffee shop about halfway to Savile Row. It's a nice place to have breakfast and ease back into London. It also helps that it's not a place haunted by memories of Harry – it had opened a few months after Harry had died and Merlin would take refuge there, especially on the weekends, when he couldn't bear to stay home and didn't want the loneliness of an empty office.

He'd gotten to know the staff well enough that before he'd left for Hong Kong, he'd let them know he'd be gone for several months.

The barista behind the counter recognizes him. "Welcome home, Mr. Raeburn."

"Thanks, lass."

"Your usual?"

"Please, and what's filling this morning?"

"Oatmeal? It's been simmering since five AM."

"Sounds perfect."

Merlin settles into a corner table and gets with the business of being a businessman. The London team has done well in his absence and they'll be amply rewarded for their good work. It also doesn't hurt that three of their big projects are up for this year's BAFTAs – two movies and a television series. Merlin's beyond proud of his people – they'd pulled through when his own creativity had dried up. He lets his senior staff know that he'll be back in the office on Monday, but not to spread the word around just yet. The next few hours pass quickly as he fields questions, answers emails and reviews a couple of proposals. _Wizard Vision_ is considered one of the very top VFX houses in the business and there isn't a studio in London or Hollywood that doesn't want them on their team.

Soon enough, Merlin's phone chirps with an alarm, reminding him of the appointment at Kingsman. As he walks towards Savile Row, the curl of anticipation grows. It's a little past eleven when Merlin enters the shop. Andrew, the senior tailor is on the floor with a customer and nod in greeting. "Welcome home, Mr. Raeburn. I believe Mr. Unwin is just finishing up with another client. If you'll have a seat, someone bring you a cup of tea, if you'd like."

Merlin smiles – Andrew had been the one to take the appointment and, on Merlin's request, misspelled his name in the appointment book. He declines the offer and wanders around the shop. Nothing much has changed since he'd last been here, with Harry. He's certain, in fact, that the mannequins are still wearing the same jackets.

There's actually a change in the air when the door to Fitting Room One opens and Eggsy escorts his client out with a quiet murmur and a slightly downcast head. "Your suit will be delivered this afternoon, your grace. It is, as always, a pleasure to serve."

The man, who Merlin recognizes as a hereditary – as opposed to a royal – duke, thanks Eggsy with the perfect touch of condescending and perfectly polite gratitude. The British class system, within the walls of the Kingsman tailor shop, is alive and well and thriving. He wonders how Eggsy stands it.

Although the shop is small, there isn't a clear line of sight from where Merlin's sitting to the front counter, where Eggsy's reviewing the appointment book. Merlin can see Eggsy frowning and he's sure that the name is giving him some pause. He gets up and goes to the counter, waiting for the moment when Eggsy sees him.

It comes a heartbeat later and Merlin relishes how the confusion melts into utter delight. But the lad is nothing if not professional. 

"H. Rayburne? A formalwear consultation?" Eggsy's grin is bright as the morning sun.

"Aye." 

"Would you care to look at style and fabric samples first, or would you prefer to discuss while I take your measurements?"

"We can go over my requirements in the fitting room." It's not quite a double-entendre, but nonetheless, Eggsy's cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink.

As soon as the door to Fitting Room One closes, Merlin reaches out for Eggsy. Not a hug, just a hand on his shoulder. "Are you angry?"

The lad's still smiling. "That you're home a week early? Can't think of a better surprise." Eggsy bites his lip. "Damn, I'd love to kiss you right now, but that would be less that professional."

"I could kiss _you_." And without waiting for Eggsy's answer, Merlin leans forward and brushes his lips against Eggsy's. He whispers, "I've missed you."

Eggsy answers back, "I've missed you too." He breaks away and laughs. "And to think, just a few short hours ago, I'd complained about my blue balls." Eggsy bites his lip and shakes his head. "You are making me crazy. I have to work here and all I can think about is pinning you the wall."

"Later, lad. We have plenty of time for that."

"Do you really need a consultation, or was this just a way to torment me?"

"It's a legitimate consultation. I find myself in need of new formalwear."

Eggsy nods and steps back, taking a small notebook and pencil out of his breast pocket. "What is the occasion?"

"The BAFTA awards. _Wizard Vision_ has multiple nominations this year, and although the techie stuff doesn't get the whole red carpet treatment, it's still a big deal and as the owner and president of the company, I'm expected to be there."

"That's fantastic. You must be so excited. Is this your first time?"

Merlin smiles. "Hell, no. More like the seventh or eighth, but it's the first time we've had nominations for several different projects in the same year. And if we win, it'll be the fourth time."

Eggsy is impressed. "Ever nominated for an Oscar?"

"We have three awards."

"Holy shit." 

Merlin loves that he's finally been able to break through Eggsy's posh facade. 

"So, I better not mess this fitting up." 

"I guess not. Shall I strip down to my skivvies?"

"Oi, you'd better not. Not unless you want me to defile the fitting room and get fired." 

But Eggsy does ask that Merlin take off his jacket and tie, and Merlin tries to stifle his arousal by thinking of the unsexiest things possible. Perhaps surprising Eggsy with this consultation hadn't been been the best of ideas. Especially when the lad goes to his knees to measure Merlin's inseam.

He mutters, "Jesus fuck, talk about torture," when Eggsy's knuckles bump against his cock. "Ye'r killing me, lad."

Eggsy grins up at him and simply says, "Good."

The torture does come to an end and Eggsy becomes the consummate professional again, guiding Merlin through a selection of styles and fabrics. Ultimately, he settles on a deep blue velvet jacket with a satin shawl collar and lets Eggsy talk him into a pair of trousers in a Clan Campbell military plaid. "It's a little flashier that what I'd have selected on my own, but it's not like I'm going to meet the Queen."

"Have you?" 

"Once." He'd met the Queen when Harry had been knighted for "service to the Crown". Merlin can see that Eggsy wants the story, but he's reluctant to bring Harry up in this setting. "I'll tell you later, all right?" 

Merlin sees Eggsy put everything together, but all the lad says is, "I'm looking forward to it. Perhaps over dinner tonight?"

"Sounds perfect." Merlin puts his tie back on and Eggsy helps him into his jacket. But before he opens the fitting room door, Eggsy asks a question that Merlin's been dreading.

"What's the 'H' for? Or was that just a mistake when they took your appointment?"

Merlin grimaces. He could lie, but he doesn't want to. "Merlin's actually a nickname. I hate my real name. I never use it and I can count on two fingers the number of people who know it."

"And if you tell me, you'll have to kill me?" Eggsy's not quite joking.

"I'll tell you, but you'll have to promise me you'll never us it. Not even under the most dire of circumstances."

Eggsy sighs and says in the poshest voice possible, "Very well, I accept your terms, Mr. Raeburn."

"It's Hamish. That's my given name." Merlin makes a face. "My mother had hoped that her father would look a little more kindly on her marriage if she'd named her son after him. It didn't work."

Eggsy has a soft, delighted smile on his face. "Do you know what 'Hamish' means?"

"It's the Scottish version of James." Merlin answers with a small huff.

"It's also the Yiddish word for home – someplace that brings warmth and comfort. My mentor, Mr. Hirsh, taught me that." 

Merlin remembers that Eggsy's mentor had been an Austrian Jew, a survivor of the concentration camps.

And despite Eggsy's earlier protestation that he'd needed to maintain his professionalism in this setting, the lad grabs Merlin's tie and pulls him in for a kiss. "What's this for?"

"Do you know what else, Mr. Hirsh told me?"

Merlin doesn't think Eggsy's question has anything to do with tailoring. "What, lad?"

"He said that I should find a man who's 'hamish' – a man who's my home, who brings me warmth and comfort." Eggsy kisses him again. "And to think, I've found him and his name _is_ Hamish."

Merlin laughs into Eggsy's kiss and feels the lad shiver against him. "I never thought it possible, but that just might make me like the name."

"Does this mean I can call you Hamish?" Eggsy gives him a mischievous smile, licking his lips like pure   
temptation.

"Not if you value your life, Eggsy." Merlin can hear the echo of Harry's laughter and feels perfectly at peace.

__

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my readers - thank you so very, VERY much. The responses to this fic - the kudos and the lovely comments, both here and on Tumblr, have just awed me.
> 
> And again, my deepest thanks to [](http://anarchycox.tumblr.com)[](http://anarchycox.tumblr.com)**anarchycox** for the wonderful artwork that now precedes Chapter One.
> 
> If you haven't listened to it yet, please follow this link to the song than inspired this story - [Braw Burn the Bridges](https://youtu.be/eKp_r_N0n4M).

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics to _Braw Burn the Bridges_
> 
> Bide a wee ye bonnie hours o' sweet yestreen  
> Haud awa' the thocht that e'er I will forget  
> Lang the wimplin wey unrowes afore my een?  
> And the mindin' will be sweeter yet
> 
> Chorus:  
> Aye, the road was haudin' frae the lass that I will aye remember  
> Braw burn the bridges far behind me in the rain  
> The leaves were changin' tae the colour's o' the glowing embers  
> My heart lay waiting for the spring tae come again
> 
> Hae we rin the gless or daur we dream of mair  
> While as surely as the river meets the sea?  
> When the eastlin's wind has blawn the forest bare  
> Will the pertin' a' the wider be?
> 
> Could I leeze me on your lousome face again  
> Gin the traivel's turn should bring me tae your side  
> Fain would I nae langer steek my heart wi' pain  
> Or lay curse upon the ocean wide
> 
>  
> 
> * * *
> 
> Feel free to follow me at my tumblr [Obscene Circus Ponies](http://elrhiarhodan.tumblr.com/), or on my old school (and much beloved) [Dreamwidth](http://elrhiarhodan.dreamwidth.org/) account


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